Heir Apparent
by CDrake
Summary: Amid victories and trials alike, the heir apparent to the Dark Lord rebuilds an old piece of his life, knowing he still has to earn that passed torch. But his predecessor has a very different gift in mind.


This was something he had to do. He'd waited too long already, and with every passing day it weighed on him more and more. He'd shattered it in a fit of rage, after Snoke gave him a dressing down for his attachment to it. Believing—mistakenly—that it was the childish prop his master had made it out to be, he destroyed the helmet, ridding himself of his symbol of inspiration. Leaving him vulnerable, suggestible.

Weak.

Now, the shattered fragments of his helmet were a continual reminder of Snoke's manipulation, of his days enslaved to that mad egoist. His "true enemy," as the bastard himself had said just moments before his death. It was high time he rectified that mistake. And so, on a rare day when he could set aside time for himself away from the war and the constant demands of being Supreme Leader, he brought the crate containing the pieces to a workshop aboard his flagship. No calls, no distractions. Hux, as contrary and irritating as he was, would hold the line until he was done.

A hydrospanner, welding kit, appropriate face shield, and a plasma torch were all he would need to assemble the pieces. The Force would suffice to keep them in place. So he set to work, time passing in a blur as piece after piece joined its brothers, gradually rebuilding the structure until it began to take form once again. He lifted the face shield off and took a deep breath, wiping a nearby rag over his sweat-stained features and taking a small break from his labors. His gaze drifted to the side, to a pedestal elsewhere in the workshop, and he strode over to it, laying his hand gently over the charred, misshapen object residing there.

The ghostly shell of Darth Vader's mask stared back at him like an ancient skull, sending a faint chill of reverence down his spine. A very different chill followed a moment later, as the rest of the room seemed to fade into grayscale. His head turned this way and that, eyes flickering about his darkened surroundings until he froze, slowly turning to face the pedestal once more.

But the pedestal wasn't there.

In its place was a figure, faintly glowing and transparent, standing at eye level with him with hair reminiscent of his own, though a few shades lighter. His right eye bore a long, vertical scar, and something about his chin reminded him of Luke Skywalker.

Then it hit him, all at once, and he uttered a single word.

"Grandfather."

He didn't say anything in reply, not for a good long time. When he did speak, it was with a voice that seemed at odds with his appearance, worn down by age and tribulation beyond imagining.

"You've chosen a dark path, Ben."

He flinched at the utterance of his dead name, spoken by the very last person he'd expected. "I followed in your footsteps. Carried on your mission."

Anakin's lips twisted in a sardonic smirk. "Is that so? Pray tell, what _was_ my mission?"

"To institute a new order in the galaxy," he replied instantly. "To ensure the security of your empire."

That smirk only widened as he released faint, almost taunting chuckles. "And to do this, you've become as I was. Embraced your rage and hatred, abandoned your past connections."

His head tipped slightly in deference. "I _destroyed_ Ben Solo. I rejected all that made me weak."

All mirth vanished from his grandfather's face, and Anakin's gaze softened with something he couldn't name. "Yes. You did." He began pacing around the room, hands clasped behind his back as the ethereal robes he was wearing fluttered in some unseen wind. "And by doing so, you crippled yourself." He waved at the worktable containing the half-assembled helmet. "That's why you need _that_, isn't it? Because you spent so long allowing the Dark Side to purge who you _were_ that you've forgotten who you _are_."

At the thinly-veiled judgment in Anakin's tone, furious heat flared in his chest. "I know _exactly_ who I am."

Anakin turned to face him with a skeptical look.

He straightened up, shoulders wide, chest out. "I am Kylo, master of the Knights of Ren and Supreme Leader of the First Order."

A second or two passed as Anakin nodded slowly. Then he started laughing in a way that was decidedly unpleasant, and amid this fixed Ren with a piercing stare. "Such fire! Such _conviction_!" He sneered. "Such _arrogance_. You think your blind devotion to the Dark Side makes you strong?" His blue eyes widened goadingly. "Do you want to know? Do you want to see what the Dark Side did to _me_?"

Without waiting for a response, Anakin backed up a step to give Ren an even clearer look at his form as the robes melted away—along with jagged stripes and splotches of skin. His hair burnt up bit by bit, down to the root, his arms and legs stripped down to metal endoskeleton, and his eyes…

Those clear blues now burned with perverse fire, sickly, radioactive yellow with flecks of orange.

The smile on his face, a mere taunt before, became an overt threat that made Kylo want to reach for his lightsaber. Sheer terror gripped him for a long moment as he finally saw the face behind the mask that had long served as the template for his own.

Then his jaw tightened and fists clenched, and he wrested back control of himself.

Straightening to his full height, Kylo Ren stared down his grandfather unflinchingly. "I'm not afraid anymore. The Resistance is on the run, Snoke is no longer in my way, and Luke Skywalker is dead." His arms splayed out to the sides. "What do I have to fear?"

A flash of pain entered Anakin's eyes at the mention of Luke's fate as his form shifted back to normal. "There is _always_ something to fear, always a bigger fish, as an old friend once said. It's exactly this arrogance that led to what I showed you."

"I already have scars of my own," Ren countered. "I'm not afraid of more."

Anakin shook his head slowly and sighed, as if he just wasn't getting it. "Ben, the worst scars are _never_ on the outside." His head tilted down, half-lidding his eyes. "And if the pain you've endured 'til now hasn't taught you that…the pain _ahead_ will. What you saw of me, the scars, the mutilation…that was barely a _fraction_ of what I endured inside, every day. Every choice has a price, grandson. Whatever you decide, just make sure you can live with paying it."

Kylo Ren watched Anakin turn away, walking back toward the pedestal where he'd first appeared, and kept turning their conversation over in his head.

"I noticed something."

Anakin stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"This whole time, all you've been doing is feeding me history." Ren's head shook slightly. "But you're not really trying to convince me of _anything_. Why?"

He glanced to the side, pondering the question for a moment before smiling. "Because in the end, it doesn't matter what you do. The Force does as it will, and its will _shall_ be done." He smiled wider. "The only _real _mistake you can make is thinking you can change that." He turned back toward the mask on the pedestal, reaching out to it. "That hubris, that _lie_…_that_ is what created Darth Vader." He looked back at Kylo over his shoulder. "And accepting the _truth_ is what _destroyed _him." He faced Ren fully as he backed into the pedestal. "If you really want a mission, chase _that_. The truth will never lead you astray."

And with that, Anakin Skywalker faded from existence and the rest of the workshop came back into focus. Ren stared at the space he'd occupied for a while after he was gone, mind running at lightspeed though his body was still. Then his eyes snapped from the floor to the mask, and a snarl pulled at his lips. His breathing surged heavily, and his right hand opened from where it had fisted.

A sizzling _snap-hiss_ split the air a moment later, and a screeching whine filled the air as the unstable red blade vaporized what was left of the mask.

His crossguard lightsaber collapsed back into its hilt with a hollow sound as his steps carried him back to the workbench. And he resumed his work unhindered.

The mask of Kylo Ren was _his_, and his alone. Not Vader's, not Snoke's, not Luke's. Aside from his lightsaber, it was perhaps the only piece of his identity that he _chose_, not what was forced upon him. The mask was his, the First Order was his, and soon…the galaxy itself would be his.

_This_ was the only truth that mattered.

* * *

AN: Cover art by Alex Donovan.


End file.
